Warm Velvet, Spun Sugar
by messyfeathers
Summary: Carlos never goes to strip clubs. Cecil never dates customers. It's time some rules got broken. [Exotic Dancer AU]
1. The King's Ransom

_Disclaimers: Welcome to Night Vale belongs to Commonplace Books. The Stripper Vale AU and all its sexiness (including Caesar Santiago and the King's Ransom) belongs to goddess-in-green on tumblr, who was lovely enough to let me dabble around with it!_

* * *

><p>The music thumps away a booming rhythm, drowning out all conversation and most conscious thought as a redheaded dancer spirals and twists gracefully suspended in a sheet of violet satin. The fabric is almost liquid as it ripples tastefully across the dancer's toned body. He winks at the scientist's table - a predetermined touch, Carlos assumes, since Caesar nods minutely in response - and with a graceful cartwheel, the ginger frees his wrists from the complex knots keeping him aloft and saunters the few steps from the stage to the crowd. It was a technically impressive routine, and while Carlos admires the strength and grace required for such a performance, his admiration ends there.<p>

"That one not your type either?" Caesar queries with a good-natured nudge. "You're sure you're gay, right?" Carlos rolls his eyes with exaggeration and takes another experimental sip of his drink. A new song starts to pound through the speakers; Carlos can only tell because the rhythm is a little faster than its predecessor. He doesn't bother looking to the stage again until he begins to hear cheers rise above the general din. The new act takes the scientist by surprise.

Caramel skin shimmers slightly in the stage lights as single dancer twirls and spins between two poles, expertly twining his body around them in poses that convey innocence, in contrast to the sensuality each movement exudes.

"I guess that answers my question," Caesar hums in the scientist's ear. Carlos is immediately acutely aware that his mouth is hanging open, his throat thick and dry. Caesar glances from the dancer to his transfixed guest. "I'll be back," he nearly shouts to be heard above the club's rise in volume. Carlos nods and waits until his cousin has disappeared into the crowd to look back to the man on the stage.

He's shed a few layers in the moments that passed, revealing intricate tattoos spread across his torso and down his arms. In a single fluid motion, a hand adorned with long, indigo nails reaches back and releases a waterfall of dark hair streaked with lavender to match the dancer's captivating eyes. The action is met with even more cheers from the front-row of guests and a glistening shatter that Carlos doesn't immediately place as being the demise of his hardly-touched beverage. Several heads shoot back towards the crashing sound including - to the scientist's absolute horror - the performer onstage. For a moment that seems to stretch on endlessly, their eyes meet and Carlos entirely forgets to breathe. For his part, the dancer misses a beat, but only a single beat, before he's back into his natural mesmerizing rhythm. A hand on the scientist's shoulder pulls him from his trance. Caesar gestures towards a spiraling staircase in the corner, pulling aside the velvet rope and guiding Carlos to a glassed-in private room that affords an overhead view of the proceedings below. The room is much quieter, the melody of the piped-in music finally discernible.

"So I was going to get you a private dance," Caesar says as he settles Carlos next to him on a plush burgundy sofa. Carlos can feel his cheeks flush at the thought of a lap dance at all; two shades deeper as he imagines the scent of sienna skin, dark hair cascading in smooth swaying motions.. "But it seems you've taken a liking to our most popular performer. Deep Throat's booked solid for the night, and we here at the Ransom honor our appointments." There's a pang of disappointment, which he feels ridiculous about. Deep Throat - Carlos flushes again at the name - was the only dancer the whole night who had even caught his eye. He swallows, part of him still stuck in that moment where he had caught those glittering violet eyes as well.. "We have another dancer though, almost identical. I think you'll like him just as much. Ah," Caesar winks as the door opens and shuts with a velvet click behind another man who does, admittedly, look much like the one still twirling gracefully to a raucous crowd below. The new arrival's tattoos are different, and two piercings mark his upper lip. His hair, too, is different - a much shorter undercut, and bleached blond on the top. The most notable change is the eyes; this new dancer's are so dark as to be nearly black in the dim mood lighting.

"I hear it's your birthday," he purrs, an affected airy pitch to his voice. His hips sway in time to the music, his motions almost feline. He saunters towards the scientist, props a knee against the cushions and leans over him, eyelashes fluttering seductively. Carlos goes rigid at the close proximity. Long nails reach out, dragging gently along his jaw. "Don't look so scared, I hardly ever bite, mm?" Carlos is terrified. Seduction is not a science, and is therefore far beyond his comfort zone. The man presses up against him, the same rhythmic swaying motion, but the expression of pure temptation fades to confusion as Carlos shrinks back further into the plush of the sofa. The dancer glances nervously at Caesar.

Carlos heaves a sigh of relief as the man switches his attention fully towards the club's owner instead. He's fairly sure he heard him mumble something sarcastic under his breath as he climbed off the scientist, but he's so relieved that he lets it go. The song finishes with the dancer fully perched in the other man's lap. Caesar whispers something in his ear, eliciting a small giggle and an enthusiastic nod. They pull apart far enough to share a long, languid kiss. Carlos shifts uncomfortably on the sofa, looking very intently anywhere but at the couple making out two feet away. He cautions a glance in their direction in time to see Caesar slip a roll of bills into the waistband of the dancer's shorts, just above a plush tail that Carlos hadn't noticed before. They murmur something, share one last kiss, and then the dancer's prancing towards the door.

"Happy Birthday, Carlos~" he winks over his shoulder before leaving the two cousins alone in the room. Carlos stares straight ahead for a while and lets the awkwardness flood the air to a backdrop of a dull, thudding baseline.

"He seems nice," he finally says slowly.

"You wouldn't believe the sex," Caesar casually replies, sipping at the last of his drink. "Sex with strippers, it's everything they leave up to the imagination and more." The faint patterns of spirals in the carpet are suddenly extremely intriguing to Carlos.

"You sleep with the dancers then?" he finally sputters, eyes still locked on the plush velvet beneath his feet.

"Dance_r_. Singular. Just my little Strex Kitten," Caesar corrects coolly. Strex Kitten. It explains the feline movements and the tail, anyway.

"Is that even legal?" Carlos asks before he can stop himself. After Caesar brought him for free to the most expensive, luxurious club in town just so he didn't have to spend his birthday miserable and alone, he has the nerve to insult the legality of his personal life. _Typical_, he berates himself.

"Ah, Carlito, everything always has to be by the book with you," Caesar laughs, waving the insinuation away. "Of course it's legal, all above-board and consensual. No business, just pleasure. And besides, who's to know? We keep it under wraps." They're quiet for another minute as they each finish their drinks, this time without any broken tumblers. "I understand this isn't really your scene, but did you have a nice time?" he asks as they walk back down the spiraled stairs and towards a back door.

"I did," Carlos admits. It's mostly true. Even if he had discovered a complete inability to enjoy a lap dance and made an absolute fool out of himself in front of a beautiful stranger, it had at least been a memorable evening. Caesar leads him past a thick curtain and into a narrow hallway beyond. Eventually the hallway gives way to a wide room filled with a long brightly-lit bar on either side, the surface of which is entirely covered by makeup containers and aerosol bottles and garish sequined scraps of fabric that pass for costumes. Lively chatter fills the space, adding to the dizzying din. Carlos peeks around, hopeful for a moment to catch one last glimpse of that same stranger, but in the flurry of activity he can't seem to see him.

The desert night beyond the back exit door is cool and calm and quiet. It's an almost perfect contrast to the cloying, clattering rooms inside. Carlos wanders the alley slowly, taking in a few deep breaths of clean, fresh air. A couple to his left, undoubtedly more than a little tipsy from the sound of it, are taking turns pressing each other to the graffitied brick and whispering very loud nothings in each other's ears. A young woman scurries towards a dark corner, mumbling entreaties to what seems to be a runaway empty tin can making an escape. At the mouth of the alleyway a figure stands, face half-lit by the burning end of a cigarette as Carlos shuffles past and into the night. He glances back at the shape, catches the reflection of starlight in lavender eyes. Another breath on the cigarette, another silver exhale. Carlos notes in the brief flicker of red that the man's expression seems empty, almost sad. Cold. Not the confident smile he had worn on stage.

Part of him wants to say something before the logical half of his brain reminds him how the situation would look from the opposite side. They're strangers in a dark alleyway in the middle of the night. Any conversation could easily be perceived as a threat. And even if it weren't, what would he have to say? He doesn't even know the man's real name, and he certainly isn't about to address him as Deep Throat.

Instead, the scientist stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans and walks very decidedly toward the parking lot. With any luck, he can write the night off as a failure and push it from his mind entirely - lavender eyes and all.

* * *

><p><em>End Notes: I'm going to state here up front that I'm very much asexual and as a result there's a good chance this might be mostly domesticity and only slightly steamy. but we'll see from here! comments and critique are welcome as always!<em>


	2. Chance Encounters

"It's just another interview," Carlos mutters to himself as he paces the narrow classroom over and over. It isn't just another interview necessarily. The meager funding he had managed to raise to originally come to Night Vale has long since run out, and ten years of life savings can only operate an entire research lab for so long. The interview with Doctor Dubinsky would mean a teaching position in the chemistry department of Night Vale Community College, and more importantly, a way to fund continued research.

Carlos shakes his curls feverishly to toss the stressful thoughts out of his mind. "Just an interview," he exhales from a held breath. His watch says he's still almost two hours early, but it's becoming clear that time doesn't flow naturally in Night Vale. He's probably already late.

"Breathe deeply," a melodic voice instructs from the gymnasium as the scientist walks past. Carlos spares a moment to follow the advice since clammy hands and a racing heart probably won't help his chances at a job. "Inhale," the soothing narration continues. "Good, just like that." Carlos wanders towards the open door to peek in at just what class is in progress anyway. A spandex-clad group of students - young through middle aged of mixed genders - hold a yoga pose with varying levels of grace. Carlos exhales in surprise slightly before instructed when he sees the teacher wandering through the rows of colorful mats. Amethyst eyes, skin like brown sugar, long flowing hair pulled into a messy bun. Of course someone that gorgeous would have a voice just as stunningly seductive.

It's been a week since that night at the King's Ransom, and Carlos has done his best to push the memories - embarrassing and otherwise - from his mind. Or at least into buried corners of pleasant dreams. Everything resurfaces immediately, and he stumbles back from the door before he can be spotted. It wouldn't do to make a fool out of himself twice. Besides, he doesn't want to be late.

* * *

><p>It's a short interview. In fact it's a shaky hello and two sentences before he's ushered out the door and left alone in the hallway. The lights flicker ominously above him. If he didn't already share his apartment with two poltergeists, he'd find it eerie. His sneakers squeak loudly against the tiles as he retraces his steps through the labyrinth of classrooms. He's fairly sure he's been past the same water fountain three times when he turns a corner and spots quite possibly the only other person still left in the building at this hour. He should feel relieved to see another human being in the maze; instead he literally dives behind a potted venus flytrap. Light footsteps fade away down the hall, and he's just about to let the opportunity pass and find his own way out when poor judgement gets the better of him and yanks him out from behind the plant.<p>

"Hey," he says, his voice echoing loud in the quiet hall. The figure at the other end of the hall spins around in surprise.

"Can I help you?" There's something wary behind the courtesy in that gorgeous voice.

"You probably don't remember me," Carlos stammers, cursing himself for thinking this was even remotely a good idea. Violet eyes narrow slightly in recognition.

"You dropped your drink and went white as a ghost when you thought I noticed." Carlos shuffles his feet awkwardly. There's a good chance he's either that pale again right now or perfectly crimson. "How did you find out where I work?" The soft humor is gone from that caramel voice, a slightly ominous undercurrent taking its place. Carlos buries his face immediately in his hands.

"Oh god, oh _god_, this - that's not what this is," he stumbles. Brown eyes peek out between his fingers to catch a glimpse of the expectant expression on the stranger's face. He straightens, smooths his palms down the front of his best checked dress shirt. "I just saw you teaching yoga when I happened to pass by. I had a job interview with Doctor Dubinsky in the chemistry department. I'm a scientist. My name is Carlos." He could have stopped talking two sentences ago, he chides himself. The hint of a smile quirks at the other man's lips.

"Well, Carlos the Scientist," the name drips like honey on silk, and Carlos shivers just slightly - unnoticeably, he hopes. "Is there something you needed?"

"A-a way out? Would you happen to know one?" It's a safe cover for a conversation that should probably have never happened to begin with.

"It seems we've been caught in the night shift," the man explains, jostling the yoga bag slung across his shoulder into a more comfortable position. "The exit is back the way you came, third door on the left." Carlos nods once, mumbles a thank you before turning.

_Don't_, he warns himself before whirling back. Then again - what does he really have to lose at this point? "Hey, I don't know if you're busy tonight or if you're even interested, but there's a little place I passed on the way over. They have gelato. Or is it espresso? Whichever one is the drink, I can never keep the two straight-"

"I'm going to stop you there." The stranger interrupts gently. "You seem sweet - _really_. But I make it a rule to never date customers. There are a lot of misconceptions about my line of work and what I do - I'm sure you understand. I don't doubt you have nothing but the best intentions, but rules are rules." It's a polite speech, polished to perfection through what must be multiple repetitions.

"No, I - that makes sense," Carlos stammers. They stand there for an awkward moment, each glancing intentionally at harmless objects on either side of the hall. Carlos finally works up the courage for another sentence. "One more thing, and then I promise I'm gone." That lovely gaze studies him coolly from across the distance, the lack of anticipation evident. "I know what that's like, to look up at the stars and feel cold." Those amethyst eyes widen minutely in surprise. "And I don't know if it ever really goes away," Carlos continues with a shrug. "But, I hope you find something that keeps you warm." He offers a smile and turns toward the elusive exit, this time content to escape without any further uncomfortable attempts at conversation. Lithe footsteps trail after him; even with a shorter stride, the dancer reaches him quickly.

"I never do this," he murmurs, coming to a stop in front of the scientist and reaching for his hand. As if the close proximity weren't intoxicating in itself, Carlos nearly jolts at the softness of the touch. "Do _not_ give this out," the man says as a contraband pen scratches a string of digits into the scientist's clammy palm. He finishes writing, and leans down. Carlos flinches again as lips just graze the digits, blowing cool air to dry the ink. Violet eyes peek out from below fanned lashes as the man straightens again. "But _do_ call me." A glimmer of a smile crosses his face as he steps toward an exit light Carlos could swear hadn't existed moments before. The scientist glances down to his hand, memorizing the careful script of the name above the number.

"Cecil Palmer," he reads. He likes the way the name flows, as graceful and enchanting as its owner. By the time he's entered the information into his phone, the hallway seems to have shifted, Cecil's exit sign vanishing into a trophy case chronicling the Spiderwolves' recent achievements. Right next to an all-too-familiar water fountain. "Not again," Carlos groans, slipping his phone back into his pocket and beginning his trek anew.


	3. Partially Stars

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to call," a silken voice teases over the phone. Carlos shoots a suspicious glance towards the device pressed to his ear. It's not the sort of answer he's accustomed to, nor the one he had expected. In fact, it's taken him nearly two weeks to get the nerve to make the call at all, fearing the number would be fake or only given out of pity.

"This is Carlos," he says finally, still slightly afraid the answer isn't meant for him. There's a muffled little laugh from the other end that causes his heart to flutter.

"I'm aware. I don't give this number out to just anybody." Carlos swallows hard. Phone calls have never been his strongest suit. "How are you?" Cecil asks after a few seconds of silence.

"I'm calling for personal reasons," Carlos rushes all at once. Another little laugh to fill another stuttered pause. "Are you free sometime this week? We could get dinner. Or we could do something else. Or we could not, I mean, if you're busy or if you don't want to." Carlos clamps a hand over his mouth to stop the babble.

"Thursday. I'm free Thursday."

* * *

><p>When Carlos scribbled down the address, he hadn't given much thought to the location. The destination is an old warehouse split into loft apartments over by the Night Vale Harbor. High-end. Expensive.<p>

On the curb out front, a lone figure stands waiting in the afternoon sun. Cecil's in a tunic of shimmering indigo and black leggings that appear soft to the touch. Carlos instantly regrets his own outfit choice. He'd wavered on whether to wear the lab coat, and had finally decided it was the perfect mix of both casual and professional. But it isn't fancy, and he doesn't look at all alluring the way Cecil does. The man on the steps spots him and waves before he can make an unnoticed escape.

"You look so nice," Cecil says with a bright smile. Carlos stuffs his hands in his pockets as his cheeks flush scarlet.

"I, um, I didn't know you lived here," he stutters with a nod towards the building beside them.

"I don't." Cecil says simply, glancing down at the pavement between them. Carlos can't really blame the man for giving a complete stranger a fake address. Still he's a little disappointed at the lack of trust.

"Oh," is all he says.

"It's not you," Cecil explains. "And it's not even really my job, I mean, of course that doesn't help. I just, I have a few walls." He bites his lip and shakes his head. "I always have." Carlos just shrugs.

"Okay." Cecil's gaze snaps back up as a grateful smile spreads across his lips. "Well, there's a little place just down the road. They have the best Italian I've found in town." Carlos offers a hand. After a breath of hesitation, Cecil takes it, eagerly twining slender fingers between a calloused, chemical scarred set.

The quiet evening is peaceful until they're settled in at a booth across from each other. The air suddenly feels thick and heavy discouraging Carlos every time he thinks to say something. Finally it's Cecil who smoothly breaks the silence.

"How did that interview go?" he asks after a sip of water. Carlos blinks himself out of a trance; watching every little one of Cecil's graceful motions is nearly hypnotic. "The one a few weeks back," Cecil nudges.

"Oh. I didn't get the job. She called me a heretic for implying the earth orbits the sun." Cecil drops his head and laughs quietly. The sound is even more beautiful without the crackle of a phone to muffle it.

"You have to admit, you sort of deserve that," he teases.

"But our solar system _is_ heliocentric, Cecil," Carlos says in self-defense. "It's a fact of science." Raising an eyebrow questioningly, Cecil takes another sip of water.

"Agree to disagree?" he offers. They both break into a chuckle that chases away the rest of the nerves weighing them down. They still stick to small talk: comments on the food, observations on the weather. The longer the night wears on, however, the more comfortable they seem to grow and the deeper their conversation drifts. By the last bite of carrot cake, there isn't even hesitation before Cecil's reaching for his hand across the table.

"How did you know about the stars?" he asks as they take an after-dinner walk beneath a sunset-streaked canvas speckled with the first glimmers of night.

"I saw you in the alley behind the club that night. You looked the way I feel sometimes," Carlos says, following Cecil's gaze to the sky above them.

"It's an effect of the Void," Cecil explains, vaguely gesturing to the horizon beyond which the moon still hides. "That's mostly what's out there after all."

Carlos is quick to counter, "The stars are out there too though. And they're exploding gases so theoretically they should be -well- _warm_."

"That's kind of beautiful," Cecil says softly, stopping beneath the twisting branches of a tree.

"That's why I love science. I think the world is beautiful. The more I understand of it, the more beautiful it becomes." Carlos motions towards the tree whose limbs have begun to unfurl, releasing iridescent glowing embers into the twilight. "Take this, for example. Bioluminescence. Absolutely stunning," he murmurs. Cecil joins him in watching the spores drift upwards, seemingly unaware of gravity's pull altogether. After a moment, the scientist retrieves a small glass tube from his pocket, trapping one of the glowing bits inside with a cork stopper. "Sorry to do science on a first date," he laughs. "I've wanted to study these trees for a while now."

"It's fine," Cecil murmurs, reaching out to touch one of the glimmers with a fingertip. "I'm not sure I could ever be a scientist. Studying things, figuring out how they work, _why _they work..wouldn't it take what's left of magic from the world? It seems like things are more desirable when they're still intangible and mysterious."

"No," Carlos coos as he gently sends a few of the spores spiraling upwards into the night with a smooth motion of his hand. "Understanding things, spending time on them, working to comprehend how and why they exist the way they do -" he glances over at Cecil to watch the way the illumination from the tree casts his face into soft shades. "It makes them mean that much more."

"I've never really thought of the world from that perspective." Wisteria eyes catch the scientist's gaze, Cecil's face breaking into a shy smile. "I like it, it's-" the hint of a blush creeps into his cheeks as his eyes flicker back to the glowing spectacle. "It's neat."

* * *

><p>"So this is me," Cecil says as they turn the corner to the apartment building where they began. Carlos looks from the door to Cecil and back again in confusion. "Misdirection," Cecil confesses with a shake of his head. "I'm sorry I'm like this."<p>

"Oh," Carlos says again, allowing his gaze to drift from the doorway to the fingers still joined with his. Cecil takes a deep breath before continuing.

"No misdirection, no more tricks - do you want to come in for a drink?" Something hopeful in his face is crushed when Carlos shakes his head.

"I have science to do in the morning," Carlos apologizes. Cecil nods and looks away.

"Science waits for no man," he jokes with an attempt at humor to cover the disappointment in his voice.

"Can I kiss you goodnight though?" Carlos asks. A fraction of that hopeful look returns as Cecil nods again. Carlos leans in slowly, at the last minute losing his nerve and pressing a soft kiss to Cecil's cheek. He lingers only a moment, reveling in the scent of cinnamon on Cecil's skin. "Goodnight," he whispers as he takes a shy step back.

"Goodnight," Cecil replies as their fingers finally separate. Carlos turns back at the end of the block to catch a glimpse of Cecil, smile brighter than the rising moon, fingertips pressed where lips were moments before.

* * *

><p><em>End Notes: the next chapter will get a bit back into the swing of it all a little more; I just really wanted to write out a first date that would incorporate as much of canon as possible, while still keeping the general theme of the story. I hope it came across okay.<em>


	4. Interruptions

Their second date is much less formal. In fact, when Carlos shows up to the same apartment complex for dinner this time, Cecil's in a flowy sweater of soft auburn and leggings patterned with cats.

"I ordered us Thai from this little place," he says as he pulls Carlos into the spacious living room and seats him on a plush sofa the color of mulberries. "They're the best, but they just switched delivery systems to using the faceless children from City Hall, so it may be a bit of a wait," he tosses over his shoulder, disappearing into what Carlos assumes is the kitchen. The scientist takes the moment of opportunity to take in his surroundings. While the space itself is chic and stylish, much of the decor is composed of clashing colors and mismatched knick-knacks kept only out of what must be sentiment.

"No reason we can't start early though," Cecil says, reappearing in the doorway - wineglasses perched in one hand, a bottle balanced in the other. He skillfully pours them each a glass and settles softly against the overstuffed cushions next to the scientist. "It's a Deerstongue Sauvingon," he announces proudly, handing the glass to Carlos.

"I'm afraid that doesn't mean much to me," Carlos admits. "Science is basically the extent of my knowledge."

Cecil nods in acknowledgement. "Have you always wanted to be a chemist?"

"A chem- _oh_. No, I'm not a chemist," Carlos chuckles. "I'm a scientist. I mean, I have the credentials to be a lab assistant in nearly any capacity, but working with Dubinsky would have just been a job. I actually have my own lab," he continues. He can feel himself babbling, but Cecil is just so easy to talk to, and he even nods occasionally to encourage Carlos to continue.

"Make any great discoveries lately?" Cecil nudges once Carlos finally reins his tongue.

"All the clocks I've found since I moved here aren't real." He anticipates Cecil will be alarmed or startled as he had been at the realization. Instead, Cecil beams at him as if immensely pleased at the idea. "What about you?" Carlos chokes around an unexpectedly sweet swallow of wine. "Have you always wanted to be a yoga instructor?"

"You mean have I always wanted to be a stripper?" Cecil corrects with a sly smile.

"Either," Carlos shrugs. "Both?"

"Well the yoga isn't really paid. I volunteer because I like giving back in some small way. I think being involved in the community is just _so _important, you know?" Cecil is beautiful like this, knees pulled up to his chest, one hand punctuating every other word with a little gesture, caramel voice bubbling with passion and enthusiasm. Carlos nods in response to the man's question; to open his mouth would probably result in some silly premature proclamation of love. "The dancing," Cecil continues with a halfhearted shrug. "It's not what I ever pictured I'd be doing with my life, but I enjoy it." He pauses for a breath, fingertip tracing the rim of his glass as he chews on his lip absently. "I lost my family when I was young. When I was 18, I decided this seemed like a good way to pay for college. I had the physique, the basic athletic skill - why not give it a try?" Lavender eyes fix on the coffee table in front of them as lips leave another faint print of aubergine on the edge of the wineglass. Carlos coughs a little on another strange swallow; at the sound Cecil's smile snaps back into place. "I enjoy it now. The grace, the artistry - it's expression in a way."

"What would you be doing if you had followed your original plans?" Carlos asks, discreetly sneaking the sweet-sour drink to the coffee table. He can already feel his judgement blurring a bit on the edges, and it's apparent he can't sip it half as gracefully as his companion.

"I wanted to be on the radio," Cecil admits, suddenly shy. "Broadcasting. Like a news show, but more..." his free hand swoops in a vague gesture. "Personal."

"You should give it a try. I'm sure people would love to listen to something like that," Carlos offers. Cecil shakes his head, self-consciously brushing fingers through a dark curtain of hair pulled over one shoulder.

"I don't have the voice for it. I wouldn't be any good."

"I think you'd be good at anything you tried." Cecil's cheeks flush slightly as he mumbles a thank you. With a little nod, he redirects their attention to a folded copy of the Daily Journal on the table.

"So, tonight I thought we could watch a movie." After some shuffling through an assortment of odds and ends on the tabletop, fingertips find the frames of a very thick pair of glasses. Cecil slips them on, and Carlos can feel the breath abandon his lungs involuntarily. "Do you like westerns?" Carlos is afraid to open his mouth again, sure an unanticipated confession would escape instead of an answer. Cecil glances up curiously at the silence. "Oh, these," he says, following the scientist's gaze to the glasses. "My eyesight is horrible, but I can't stand contacts. I wear them enough for work as it is."

"You should wear these at work," Carlos stutters, mentally berating himself for the awkward compliment. Cecil quirks an eyebrow at him. "I mean, with some safety goggles over the top, maybe," the scientist adds with a little chuckle. "To keep them on and all." Cecil subtly traces his lower lip with a fingertip and inches ever so slightly closer.

"I could see that. Maybe a routine that's scientific. Nothing but a lab coat..." Carlos feels his throat constrict as his imagination creates the scene. Cecil seems to notice, edging even closer.

"H-how bad is your vision?" Carlos chokes to change the subject. Cecil pulls his legs up beneath him on the sofa and moves closer on his knees until he's nearly leaning over Carlos without actually touching him. A hand slips off the frames, leaving amethyst pools enchantingly close.

"About like this," Cecil whispers, his breath warm on the scientist's nose. Carlos assesses the situation, Cecil's proximity - flirtation, he concludes.

"You're teasing."

Cecil shakes his head innocently. For a hint of a moment, the man's eyes flicker down and Carlos wants very much to kiss him, but his stomach intervenes with an unbecoming gurgle before he can make a move. The spell breaks into laughter and the sound of the doorbell.

"Finally!" Cecil chirps, pushing himself off the sofa and to the front door.

The man on the other side of the entrance is not a faceless child, but the redheaded dancer from the King's Ransom. Although slightly taken aback, Cecil immediately reaches out to brush his fingers along a swollen bruise on the ginger's cheekbone. "Earl..."

"Hey, Ceec," the man says with a forced smile. He takes a step inside before stopping, eyes wide with surprise when he notices Carlos still perched on the sofa. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were-"

"Nonsense," Cecil interrupts, pulling Earl inside and shutting the door behind him. "Carlos, I'll only be a minute," he promises as he absconds once more to the kitchen with the redhead in tow.

* * *

><p>"What happened?" Cecil demands as he pushes Earl into a vinyl chair at the kitchen table.<p>

"Three jerks were waiting out in the alley when I got off work," Earl shrugs.

"We have bouncers for that. You know it's part of their job to escort us out. Taking three guys on alone was both reckless and stupid," Cecil chides as he wipes the open wounds with a cool cloth.

"You want to talk about stupid, why is _he_ here?" Earl retorts with a nod towards the living room. Cecil shoots him a sharp look. "I just never would have expected it of you. We had rules about this stuff."

"I know what I'm doing," Cecil asserts.

"Do you even know who he is?" Earl presses, cringing when Cecil dabs peroxide into a deeper injury.

"He's a scientist. He's brilliant and endearing and sweet and he respects me." Earl opens his mouth to argue, but Cecil cuts him off. "I did not invite your opinion on my dating choices, Harlan." It's not harsh, but it is final. Earl drops his gaze to the floor to avoid looking into Cecil's eyes.

"Do you ever get tired of this life?" he asks quietly after a time.

"Of the $100 tips or the body glitter?" A smile quirks at the edges of Cecil's lips, but there's no humor at all in Earl's expression.

"Of rules and misconceptions and everybody just assuming things about your life and spreading rumors behind your back." Blue eyes glance back up to Cecil. "Do you ever wish your life were different?"

Cecil looks puzzled. "What's this about?"

"I saw an ad for the position of Scout Commander for the local chapter of the Boy Scouts. I used to love being a scout. Being a commander was my dream all the way through high school, but then I came out of the closet and had to leave home and now.." he shakes his head with a rueful smirk.

"You could still apply," Cecil suggests optimistically as he presses a butterfly bandage to the worst of the cuts along Earl's jaw.

"Somehow I don't think the Boy Scouts of America would accept an application when the previous occupation box says 'stripper.'"

"Especially when they find out just how you've put those knot skills to use over the years," Cecil adds, prompting them both to laugh.

"Sometimes I think about going somewhere nobody knows me. Starting over from scratch."

"You could. You'd make a great Scout Commander," Cecil manages, his voice catching slightly on the words. Earl shakes his head again gently.

"I still have reasons to stay."

Cecil glances up from wrapping an ice cube in a strip of gauze, but Earl's back to staring at the speckled tile floor. Cecil presses the man's fingers to the gauze to hold the compress against the swollen bruise.

"Put a bit of concealer on that in the morning, even the stage lights won't pick it up." He offers a smile as they both make their way out of the kitchen. Earl pauses once more in front of the door.

"Be careful," he whispers, cupping a hand to Cecil's chin and planting a kiss to his forehead. Without so much as a glance back to the living room, he's gone, closing the door softly behind himself. Cecil lingers in the doorway, eyes focused on the fluffy coral welcome mat for several seconds before returning to his seat on the sofa.

"Sorry about that," he says quietly. Carlos shakes his head dismissively, an action that only intensifies the dizziness caused by the drink he attempted to choke down the remainder of while his host was otherwise occupied. Inhibitions temporarily shoved aside, he finds it hard to stop the question before it's already left his lips.

"Are you and he..?"

"No," Cecil replies simply. "We started working together at the same time." Carlos must look confused, because Cecil slowly explains the situation a bit more. "It was this seedy place that always smelled like smoke and burning grease. And it's a catty business sometimes - especially back then. I mean, there's a set dollar amount of tips in the crowd on any given night, and it's pretty cutthroat when you don't get a base wage at all. But Earl had run away from home and I didn't really have much of a home to speak of, so I guess that's why we started taking care of each other." As a memory surfaces in his mind, a smile does the same across his face. "You should have seen us. We would stay until closing and clean up every night just to get extra hours of practice in. We were so determined to always push each other to improve, and it paid off. The place went under and Doctor Santiago bought it. When he turned it into the Ransom, he only kept the best and by that point Earl and I - we were the best." He pauses again, staring down into an empty glass carefully balanced between slender fingers. Carlos can't remember watching him finish it, but then again a lot of things seem a little fuzzy.

"It's all much better now, of course," Cecil continues, more to fill the silence than to finish the story. "Caesar treats us well and the place is a hell of a lot classier, so it draws a much different clientele. But I guess that instinct to look out for each other never really left." Carlos doesn't know quite how to respond, but somehow watching westerns seems like such an insipid idea at this point.

"I think the faceless children got lost," he finally manages. Cecil lets out a breathy laugh.

"I think you're right." He studies the scientist carefully for a moment, concern poking a dimple into the space between his eyebrows. "Are you feeling alright?"

"It appears that deerstongue doesn't agree with me," Carlos chuckles nervously. Cecil's lips tilt into an apologetic frown. "I might take a rain check on the movie." His host nods in understanding and walks him to the door.

"I'll expect a call next time it rains then," Cecil teases, smooth flirtation finding its way back into his demeanor as he leans against the doorframe. For one last moment Carlos wants to kiss him like he almost had before the opportunity was so rudely interrupted. Cowardice gets the better of him instead, and he leans in for another polite peck to the cheek. He's only a fraction of an inch away when Cecil tilts his head, velvet lips catching the scientist's in a kiss that tastes like lavender and honey.

* * *

><p><em>End Notes: In which Carlos discovers a slight fetish for eyewear... Also couldn't resist slipping in a bit of Earl! Thanks for the reviews and feedback! And sorry for the slow update, I've been traveling. I should be able to write much more after the 12th~<em>


	5. Rain Check

It says much about Carlos' ability to adjust that he doesn't question the spined yellow objects in the produce section of the Ralph's before placing one of them into a basket slung over his arm. He doesn't even flinch anymore when the oblong shape unfurls and slurps with resentment at being transported. Static-filled chants buzz through the tinny speaker system overhead as the scientist browses the aisles for anything else he might need over the next week or so. At the last minute he reaches for a can of fire. His last date with Cecil had been a picnic to Mission Grove Park; he had used matches to light some candles for a romantic ambiance and consequently received a misdemeanor ticket from the secret police for petty theft. It wouldn't do to have two dates with your boyfriend end in municipal infractions.

_Boyfriend._

Carlos' lips tilt up at the corners involuntarily as the word reverberates through his mind and echoes down to a stomach filled with drowsy butterflies. After almost a month, he's finally adjusting to the concept of a relationship too. It's different to have someone eagerly waiting on the other end of a phone for a call, and it's taken a few carefully placed comments from Cecil and a lot of practice to learn. But Carlos is learning; to that end, he makes a mental note to call once he gets home. As soon as the store-brand fire is placed in the basket, the yellow produce begins to shriek in squealing protest. Carlos desperately attempts to hush the food, backing away from a glaring clerk until he bumps into a body behind him.

"Sorry, sorry," he immediately mumbles before stopping to assess the other shopper. _Boyfriend_, his mind instructs his heart as a reminder to start racing. Cecil's all done up - hair in a long, silky braid over one shoulder, cream-colored eyelet sundress just grazing his knees. "Hi," Carlos stutters, unable to stop a dumb grin from spreading across his face.

"May I?" Cecil asks, nodding towards the basket. Carlos gladly offers the loudly-objecting fruit. His boyfriend traces a fingertip gently down the spines in a soothing motion until the shrieking gradually wanes and then switches to a soft cooing.

"What brings you out?" Carlos asks as the two of them place the contents of his basket onto the stone tablet to be weighed.

"People watching. It's technically illegal," Cecil grins up at him, "but haven't we all been rebels at some point or another?" He helps Carlos load the few groceries back into a paper bag after the shapeless entity behind the tablet completes the transaction. "That and I walked here, and, well, I _would_ wear a sundress on a rainy day." He nods towards the window beyond which the marmalade clouds have begun to wring out sheets of mauve.

"Well, my apartment is only two blocks over," Carlos shrugs. "I was supposed to call you next time it rained, and I-" he bites his lip in a slight fluster, "I bought this collection of westerns I found at the video store the other day, because I remembered you like them. And we could cook whatever _this_ is," he nods towards the still-cooing paper bag in one hand and reaches the other to Cecil. "Could be fun?"

By the time they reach the apartment nestled between the empty lab and the pizza parlor, Cecil's sundress and Carlos' lab coat are both drenched with the colored rain. Cecil pauses on the stoop outside to squeeze what liquid he can from his braid before closing the door behind himself.

"I just put my lab coat in the washer," Carlos calls from the cramped kitchenette, hand gesturing carelessly behind him. "You can put your dress in too in case the rain tries to set in." Cecil nods and follows the vague directions while Carlos sets a pan over a burner in preparation for dinner. On an afterthought he adds, "There's a hamper of clean clothes on the dryer. Some of the flannel shirts might be a little big, but I think there's some sweatpants in there too." Cecil reappears immediately in only briefs patterned with brightly-colored sharks, and pushes himself up to sit on the counter. "Or-or not," Carlos chuckles, carefully averting his gaze back to the mysterious food on the opposite side of the stove.

"You know, tomorrow's our one-month anniversary," Cecil says lightly as he runs his fingers through his long damp waves, deftly unlooping the braid to let his hair dry. "I think it's okay to talk about sex at this point." Carlos keeps his focus on the heating pan of butter even as a deep pink flush creeps to the tips of his ears. "Unless that's not something you're interested in?" Cecil adds curiously. That snatches the scientist's attention back up.

"No, no, I'm very interested in it. I just," his eyes flick down to the patterned expanse of skin and then immediately back up to Cecil's face as he reaches for one of the hands delicately perched on the edge of the speckled formica countertop. "I just never wanted you to feel like that was what our relationship was about." Cecil turns the scientist's hand over between his own, examining the intricate web of old marks left from bunsen burners and chemical spills. Cecil's smooth skin makes an interesting contrast, the same way the colors of their fingers mix in a twist of caramel and chocolate as he laces them together.

"Our relationship doesn't have to be _about_ sex, but I wouldn't complain if sex were a part of it," he smirks teasingly. Carlos laughs out a nervous breath as Cecil tugs on his hand. "C'mere." The scientist does as he's told, settling in against the counter between Cecil's parted knees. The dancer wraps his arms around his boyfriend's neck and pulls him in for a kiss. Hesitantly, Carlos reaches around Cecil and rests his hands at the small of the man's back. The scientist's fingertips trace ever so softly up his spine, across the dark patterns beneath copper skin that Carlos suddenly has a very desperate need to study as thoroughly as possible. They break apart as their supper begins to make whining noises in the saucepan.

"What about dinner?" Carlos asks. "And that rain check on Liberty Valance?" A hand unwinds itself from Carlos' hair and reaches to pull the pan off the burner.

"This, my darling Carlos, is a mandrake hybrid," Cecil explains as gently as he can. "You bury it beneath your floorboards for luck, and for a reasonably secure alarm system."

"You were going to let me cook it for dinner?" Carlos asks in surprise. Cecil shrugs innocently, letting out a giggle Carlos could tell he was trying very hard to keep back for his explanation. "And what of the rain?" he asks again, pulling Cecil a few inches closer and running his fingers carefully along one thigh hitched around his hip. Lavender eyes flit to the window and back in a moment.

When the response comes, it's nothing more than a breath against the scientist's lips. "Doesn't look like it'll let up any time soon."

A fleeting raunchy thought crosses Carlos' mind as they lie together in a sweaty tangle of sheets: Caesar had been right about sex with strippers being noteworthy, to say the least. But Carlos privately admits to himself that his favorite moment comes long after a blissed-out climax.

A soft rustling pulls him out of sleep sometime around midnight. By the time his eyes adjust to the dark, Cecil is crawling back into bed, one of the scientist's favorite flannel shirts draping off his shoulders with the sleeves dangling past his fingertips. "Sorry, I caught a chill," Cecil mumbles with a clumsy kiss to the stubble beneath the other man's chin. Carlos loops an arm around him and shifts until they're intertwined enough to share warmth. Cecil melts against him and drifts back off. Carlos' gaze finally breaks from the beautiful shape tucked in his arms and wanders up to the window beyond. The stars' celestial vigilance is as distant and cold as ever, but for the first time he can remember Carlos falls asleep with a warmth spreading from somewhere deep inside.

* * *

><p>The scientist awakes immediately to a startling clatter. The other half of the bed is empty; he's momentarily caught in a hopeless idea that everything that happened in the last day was nothing more than a perfect dream. A muffled profanity in a dulcet voice reassures him as he wanders out toward the kitchenette.<p>

"What's this?" he asks as he carefully sidesteps a large puddle of spilled batter and plants a kiss to his distraught boyfriend's forehead.

"Supposed to be breakfast. If you can't tell, I don't cook often. I basically live off reheated pizza from Rico's," Cecil groans, tossing aside an oven mitt in defeat.

"Crepes?" Carlos ventures. It's an educated guess at the watery substance that's burning its way through the teflon of his only frying pan.

"Pancakes."

"They seem a little runny," Carlos chuckles as he reaches for a dishrag to soak up the mess drizzled over the countertops. "Did you use enough flour?"

Cecil stares blankly at him for several seconds. "Flour is illegal," he says simply.

"I thought you were a rebel," Carlos nudges with a wink.

"Some lines even I don't cross," Cecil teases back, tossing out the crisping remains of a failed breakfast. Carlos reaches around him for a bin of flour. It's close quarters in the little kitchenspace, but as soon as the tub is opened, Cecil still manages to get a few feet away, pressing himself against the opposite wall out of instinct. Cooking isn't necessarily something Carlos prides himself in, but he can manage enough on his own. He could easily remedy the recipe, but he presses a thumbprint of flour to Cecil's nose first.

"No going back now," he shrugs playfully. Cecil feigns horror.

"You and your bad boy attitude," he mumbles, reaching for a small handful of white to dust into Carlos' faintly greying curls. The laughing scientist tries to back away, but his foot slips in the sticky puddle of pancake batter on the floor. In the collapse, his heel catches on Cecil, pulling them both down to the linoleum in a cloud of flour.

"Are you 'all _white_'?" Carlos jokes without thinking. Cecil bursts into a fit of contagiously vibrant laughter.

"Well I guess I am now," he finally manages. After a few seconds with no attempt to move from the spot, Carlos reaches out to affectionately brush away a smudge of powder along Cecil's cheekbone. His thoughts must read on his face, because Cecil raises an eyebrow at him curiously.

"This is everything I could want," he says quietly.

"To be sitting on your kitchen floor covered in illegal substances?" Cecil jokes dryly as he pulls away and begins to mop at the tiles with the dishrag. Carlos reaches out again and gently tilts Cecil's face up to meet his gaze.

"Just you."

Cecil smiles demurely before pressing his lips to the inside of his boyfriend's wrist. A digital four note melody pulls their attention back up to the counter where Cecil's phone is buzzing away.

"This is Cecil," he answers, his face curious, then strangely solemn as a voice on the other end murmurs anxiously. "I...yeah, I figured it was bound to happen. Do you need me to come in?" A pause, then, "No, it's fine, I can pick it up when I get there. I just have to shower, so maybe an hour I'll be there? Thanks for letting me know, Jake." He slides a floury finger carefully across the phone to end the call, and then just stares at the dark screen for several seconds.

"Everything okay?" Carlos asks carefully.

Cecil nods. "Do you happen to know what time it is?"

Carlos checks his watch. "10:32."

"I thought the clocks weren't real," Cecil says, a small smile sneaking across his face.

"By what I can tell," Carlos announces proudly, "this is the one real timepiece in all of Night Vale." He taps the crystal watch face for emphasis. Cecil's smile falters and fades as they both go temporarily quiet again. "Do you have to go in to the club?"

"Yeah. Earl's gone. Apparently he took all his stuff and didn't show up for work. His phone is disconnected. All he left was a note for me about how we could have had something if things were different."

"I'm sorry," Carlos offers. It seems thin and shallow, but he doesn't know how else to really respond. Cecil just shrugs.

"I knew he wanted out, so I saw it coming. I just hope he's happy, you know? I hope he gets what he was looking for wherever he finds himself now." Cecil shakes his head as if to clear away a clouded thought and lithely pushes himself to his feet. "And now I have to go learn a new routine so I can work his shift tonight. Which means I won't make it to teach my class. You don't happen to know yoga do you?" he asks as he reaches a hand down for Carlos.

"I think we explored the limits of my flexibility pretty thoroughly last night," the scientist admits sheepishly.

"Worth a shot," Cecil laughs. "I can find someone else to cover for me tonight." One-by-one, he begins to gather his strewn belongings from the small apartment. Carlos watches from the doorway to the kitchen. Selfishly, he wishes he could have one more hour of Cecil to himself, even if it would be spent sitting on the messy floor of the kitchen. Just to be with him is some form of intoxication, and Carlos has to confess he's thoroughly addicted.

"Gotta say, I was looking forward to slightly inedible pancakes," he admits as he watches Cecil lace up tangerine sneakers.

"Well, you can come by the club tonight if you want. I get off usually around 1 or so. There's this little all-nite diner a few streets over, and I can almost guarantee their pancakes will be of equal or lesser quality than mine," he says with a grin. Carlos is more than a little nervous about going back to the club again, but as long as he can wait out in the alley and not have to go in.. "Shit, my dress," Cecil groans, snapping Carlos back into reality. "I forgot to start the washer last night. Mind if I just borrow this?" He adjusts the buttons on the flannel shirt and rolls the cuffs. From somewhere in his bag he retrieves a pair of leggings patterned with colorful dinosaurs. "I was a boy scout," he explains when he catches Carlos' curious glance. "Always prepared for anything and all that. Do you know what time it is now?" Carlos glances back at his wristwatch again before undoing the buckle and slipping it onto a surprised Cecil's wrist.

"Now you'll for sure never be late."

"Carlos.." Cecil traces the shape of the watch face gingerly. "This is the only functioning clock in Night Vale. That seems pretty important. Don't you need it?"

"Time doesn't seem important at all when I'm with you," Carlos admits. "Besides, it's officially our first month anniversary today. That's the only time I need to measure anymore." It's gushy - a lot cheesier out loud than it seemed in his head. He's about to apologize when Cecil pulls him in for a kiss.

"Thank you," he says, carefully wiping a plum imprint from the scientist's lips. "Got my keys, got my bag, you have my dress," he finishes his scattered inventory and spins around toward the door. "Love you, see you tonight!" Immediately he freezes with one hand on the doorknob as his mind registers the words he just distractedly said out loud. Carlos steps across the small living room and gives him one last reassuring kiss goodbye.

"Love you too."

* * *

><p><em>notes: I've been told this chapter is much better if you listen to "Let's Get It On" in the background...<br>__special thanks to my friend Abbie for helping me edit this chapter! thanks to all who left lovely reviews! I'm glad you're enjoying the story~ I promise updates will be a bit more regular. hopefully._


	6. A Cheshire Cat's Meddling

It takes surprisingly little time for late nights and muffled club music to become routine. Carlos is used to the more nocturnal timeframe; his grad school days and more recently a few lab internships have made it easy to adjust to schedule shifts. He's even become familiar with some of the regulars of the scene: a bouncer named Dana who turns a blind eye to the scientist's alleyway loitering ever since Cecil confided in her about their relationship, and Simone - a transient who frequents Night Vale's dark streets for reasons unknown.

The latter is presently giddy as she accepts the tin can Carlos brought along tonight. "I know you lost some to the street cleaners," he mentions. Simone nods respectfully as she aligns the addition with a rag-tag collection of treasured aluminum before her. Carlos isn't sure if she actually lives in the alleyway or simply visits for something to do, but he's glad to have a familiar face to wait with him in the chilly November air.

Cecil's late tonight. Usually he gets done shortly after 1:00, but it's rapidly nearing 3:00 and still the incessant rhythm pounds away song after song from behind the door. Simone taps at the scientist's knee to draw back his attention. Proudly she hooks her thumbs beneath a Subway nametag pinned to her coat and beams up at him.

"You got the job! I'm so happy for you!" Simone nods again excitedly and then points from the nametag to the scientist. "Nah, I'm still looking for work," Carlos admits. "I sent out some grant applications last week. Cecil helped me file them properly and burn them so they reach City Council for processing." He shrugs. "I'm hoping that means they'll get to the right hands and I can get back to my research soon." Simone's eyes widen as she glimpses something behind Carlos and instinctively melts back into the shadows along with her metallic pets.

"A bit cold for small talk out here in the dark isn't it?" a voice purrs from the open doorway. Carlos whirls around to identify the familiar voice and its scantily-clad owner leaning against the frame of the exit.

"If you're dressed like that maybe," Carlos replies, slightly pleased to hear a pinch of Cecil's sarcasm finding its way into his diction. The man in the doorway bites back a breathy laugh.

"All the same, why don't you come in for a bit? I promise I won't tell a soul."

Carlos hesitates before accepting the offer. The music is much louder inside than out, but the biting desert wind no longer nips through his flimsy denim jacket.

"So what brings you to the Ransom?" the dancer asks with a cloying sweetness. Carlos is distracted by the kitten ear headband the man wears; he could swear one of the ears twitched ever so slightly, but it could just be a trick of the light..

"I'm waiting for Ce-" he catches himself staring and slurs the end of the sentence. "-_someone_." The dancer gives him a knowing look, eyes lazily shifting towards the stage and back to the scientist.

"No...really? You and Palmer?" He muses something about symmetry to himself under his breath as if the realization is meaningful in some way. Suddenly he perks back up, flashing a smile that Carlos can only describe as too sharp. Absent fingers toy with a collar fastened snug around his neck. His uncanny resemblance to Cecil is nearly as offputting to the scientist as his unreadable dark eyes. "You know, I wouldn't wait around for him if I were you," the man susurrates, his voice hushed and alluring. "He's been doing private dances all night, and, well.." he shrugs nonchalantly. "He takes such a very _long_ time with customers."

Carlos looks his companion over carefully, trying to read behind the coy mask. There's something illusory about the man, something intangible that seems to flicker in and out of focus. Carlos doesn't trust him.

"What are you implying?" the scientist asks directly.

Obsidian eyes widen theatrically beneath sultry lids, wetted lips slipping into a too-innocent pout. "Well, let's just say there are reasons the private rooms lock from the inside."

Carlos can't help but glance toward the stage and the plush seats beyond, where faceless patrons trade money for favors from beautiful people. Suddenly he can picture quite a few new favors he hadn't considered were so readily available. The DJ shuffles to a new song with a raucous rhythm.

"That's my cue," the dancer announces. "But, take my advice," he whispers, reaching out a fingertip that drags along Carlos' jaw with a razor edge. "Don't wait up." The flickering persists one moment longer before the dancer disappears with a lascivious wink.

Carlos decides to wait in the car.

It's a half hour before Cecil slides into the passenger side. "Sorry I'm late," he offers with a casual peck to his boyfriend's cheek. "There was a customer tonight, he's loaded. I think he may actually be a billionaire. Anyway, he always asks for Jake, but Jake's out sick, so.." from his bag Cecil produces a hefty roll of bills. Carlos' glance grazes the bundle before returning to the road in front of them. "I was thinking maybe tomorrow afternoon we could go blow some of it at the new megaplex downtown. There might be something good showing. Or something terrible and we can just make out in the back seat." He grins over at Carlos, but the scientist doesn't return the gesture.

"I think I'm busy tomorrow afternoon."

Cecil nods in understanding and tucks the money back away in his bag. To combat the silence, he reaches for the radio and allows the grating voice of the broadcaster to fill the space between them. Carlos pulls up to the curb in front of Cecil's apartment complex and braces himself for a confrontation on his behavior. Instead, Cecil reaches for his hand where it clenches on the steering wheel and asks enchantingly if Carlos would walk him to his door. After the icy ride home, Carlos figures he owes him that much. No sooner are they to Cecil's door before he pulls Carlos inside and rounds on him.

"Let's have it out, then," he demands, all traces of dreamy optimism abandoning his facade. Carlos says nothing, carefully choosing a seat at the kitchen table in the hope that Cecil will join him and they can talk it out quietly. He doesn't. "If we're going to fight about something, I'd rather do it away from the prying eyes of municipal surveillance. So what is it that you're upset about?"

"Do you sleep with your clients?" Carlos asks all in a rush. He immediately regrets the statement, wishing more than anything he could pull the words back inside his_ stupid_ mouth.

"What did you say?" Cecil asks, eyes flashing in a way that suggests he knows exactly what Carlos just said. The scientist bites his lip, but his boyfriend patiently waits for him to repeat the fateful accusation.

"O-one of the other dancers, the Kitten one he said-"

"I don't care what _Kevin_ told you about me," Cecil retorts, his voice caustic. "You think I would keep something like that from you?" Guilty, Carlos averts his gaze, prompting his boyfriend to cross the kitchen to re-enter his line of sight. "People pay me for a service, Carlos. For five minutes of a fantasy. I get their attention, I get them hard, and hopefully then I get more than a $2 tip. You knew what I did the day you met me. You knew everything you were getting yourself into," he spits.

"I'm sorry," Carlos mumbles. "I'm sorry, I- this is a whole world I've never had to understand. I don't know where the lines are or what's blurred or.."

Cecil takes two steps closer. "Well, I don't date my clients, I don't get emotionally attached to them, and I certainly don't sleep with them." The last few words are bitten with an edge; Carlos feels his cheeks burn, and he stares at the speckled tiles beneath his sneakers to avoid looking up at his boyfriend. Cecil takes a deliberate breath and drops to a crouch beside him. "Just you," he adds, his voice softer.

"Why?" Carlos asks sourly. If he's going to make an ass of himself, he decides may as well do a thorough job of it. "What makes me different from every other starstruck spectator?"

Cecil cups the scientist's chin in one hand, gently tilting it level to his own. The other briefly caresses his cheek before tangling itself in his curls. "Because I fell in love with you a little the very first time I saw you." Lips soft as velvet brush against his own in familiar patterns he will never get used to. "I took a chance and trusted you," Cecil murmurs, untangling his fingers from the scientist's hair and lacing them between the hands fidgeting in his lap instead. "Trust me in return?" Carlos nods, nuzzling into the palm still cradling his cheek. Cecil leans in and kisses his forehead tenderly in response. "And don't _ever_ trust Kevin," he adds, humor filling the vacancy left by the previous frustration. "He hates me."

"Why?" Carlos asks as his arms are suddenly very full of Cecil, delicately perched across his lap. The dancer shrugs.

"We're basically identical, so I suppose he finds that threatening. He's afraid I'm basically the better version of him."

"Are you better than him?" Carlos asks curiously.

"Clearly," Cecil assures him with a grin. "But that's beside the point. He's also fucking Santiago - our boss. They think they're all discreet about it, but everybody knows. The other workers are all scared of him as a result. He uses it to his advantage, but I don't let him bully me." Cecil shakes his head in distaste. Carlos remembers back to his first night at the King's Ransom, watching Kevin and Caesar on the plush sofa in the private room. "I don't know if it's just sex, or maybe it's really love, or whatever it is between them, but it's the way it looks that bothers me," Cecil continues, more to himself, though this close Carlos can't help but listen anyway. "It looks like he slept his way to the top. I would never want people to talk about me the way they talk about Kevin. Everything I have, I work hard for it." Graceful fingers fidget absently with the collar of Carlos' lab coat. "That's why I keep it all separate, my personal life and my job." He comes back to himself a bit more, pressing a kiss to his boyfriend's cheek. "That's why I'm glad I have you. You're so far from everything in that world. I don't have to worry about you getting all tangled up with work." There's practice to the way he moves - light as a feather as he pushes himself from the scientist's lap and to his feet. "Enough talk of work. I'm going to take a shower, and you are more than welcome to join me." The offer is accompanied with a wink and an intentionally enticing saunter towards the hall.

Carlos remains rooted to the kitchen chair, piecing together that night at the Ransom in his mind. Surely Cecil had to know of his relation to the club's owner. Earl had known, had even been instructed where to pay the most attention during his routine. Kevin had known, thanks to the incredibly uncomfortable attempt at a lap dance. But Cecil had only seen him once he dropped his drink, after Caesar had left to set up arrangements for a private booth. And while most people would recognize the resemblance between the cousins, Cecil _does_ have terrible eyesight and a particular dislike for the contacts prescribed for work..

Carlos should tell him. It shouldn't be too much of a problem. It isn't like Carlos spends any considerable amount of time with his cousin, and if Cecil prefers it they can still keep their own relationship a secret from the management. Still, he can't stop thinking of Cecil's sour face at the idea of Kevin and Caesar. What if the idea of Carlos being more than just another patron will be equally repulsive to him?

"Are you coming or not?" Cecil pouts as he peeks out from the bathroom, long hair cascading seductively over one exposed shoulder. Immediately, a slew of very different thoughts replace whatever Carlos had just been contemplating. After all, he muses, there will be plenty of time for talking later.

* * *

><p><em>notes: I feel the need to put a bit of a disclaimer here that just because Cecil's a main character, always keep in mind that doesn't necessarily mean he's right.. (I mostly feel this need because he's talkin bout other people's OCs behind their back - tsk tsk, Cecil) Also, is anyone seeing any similarities between doubles? hmm<br>as always, thank you so much for the reviews! comments and critique are always appreciated~_


	7. Self-Reliant

_Self-reliant_. It's a stupid phrase, and Carlos hates saying it, even if it is mostly true. Scientists are self-reliant. It isn't the first thing a scientist is, however. The first thing is methodical, and Carlos is nothing if not painstakingly meticulous. His world is charted in numbers and graphs and lists of data encoded in organized strings of binary. Somehow he has always found himself believing that the closer he studies the past, the easier he can predict the future.

It's why he refuses Cecil's offer of help with the final experiment of his research proposition for the Board of Anonymous Donors living beneath City Hall. Carlos can graph the curve of every relationship he has ever had; three months nearly to the day he always finds himself perched on the lip of a precipice. Beneath his feet lies the tested and true, the bedrock of proven hypotheses; beyond lies the unknown, the potential for ache and emptiness and disaster. The worst variable this time around is that Cecil gives him wings. Not literally, as sometimes happens in the apartment complex overlooking Radon Canyon. With Cecil, the world seems to blossom in unfamiliar hues. He is everything Carlos has never experienced, and the scientist still can't comprehend why someone as exquisite and fascinating and ebullient would choose to be with him.

Cecil does not fit into Carlos' charts and graphs and tables. There is no guarantee that the delicate wings of spun sugar will hold against the winds of the unknown, and Carlos is afraid of heights. So on their three-month anniversary when Cecil offers to help him finish the research together, Carlos declines and insists that Cecil can pick up some extra hours instead. After all - scientists are self-reliant. Scientists don't want to fall.

"Are you okay?" Cecil asks, breathless as he stumbles across the sagebrush that cracks its way through the worn pavement of the Arby's parking lot. His caramel skin is slick with a sheen of sweat, his hair a tangled, bedraggled mess as it clings to exposed shoulders. It's clear he's come straight from the club, still in crop shorts and a thin tank top draped hastily across his frame.

All of Carlos' regret and indecision about calling him melts instantly to relief at the sight. He had been so stupid to refuse help, especially when his entire research project revolved around the creation of stable antimatter. It was an accident in the making, and he shouldn't have panicked like he did when the experiment went awry and the lab nearly collapsed in on itself with him trapped inside. But Cecil is reaching out, gentle fingertips running along the self-applied bandages that criss-cross the scientist's chest, and the touch is reassuring.

"Not as self-reliant as you thought?" Cecil teases softly, pushing himself up next to Carlos on the hood of the scientist's car.

"I'm sorry," Carlos admits. It takes a bit of work to clarify the many faults his accident has thrown into sharp relief. "For choosing to do science instead of taking you for that anniversary dinner like you wanted. For -" he struggles to articulate the guilt he feels for not believing more in them. For subconsciously always comparing what they have to the failed models of the past. For _something_ that he can't express. Cecil accepts the unfinished apology as is, placing a comforting hand on the scientist's knee. "Are you going to get into trouble for leaving work? I should have waited until you were off to call."

Cecil just shrugs and nestles against Carlos' shoulder. "If I do, I do. It doesn't matter." He lifts freshly scarred knuckles to his lips. "My grandma Josie always says that love is consciously, constantly choosing to care more about what happens to someone else than what happens to yourself." A fresh pang of guilt churns at Carlos' stomach. How could he ever have doubted this? A new apology sorts itself out on his tongue, but Cecil softly changes the subject with a nod toward the night sky. "Do you ever think you'll study those?" Carlos follows his gaze up to where lights bloom above them in glimmering fractals. As he watches the glowing eddies and uncharted currents of light, the words align themselves with unusual simplicity.

"I used to think if I could only comprehend and explain things, the world would make sense. I thought somehow..understanding how or why, or figuring out a way to fit things into charts and graphs would make them more real. More valuable." Cecil's eyes watch him carefully, flickering crimson neon reflecting across amethyst pools. "Now I'm starting to think that there are some things that don't always need to be understood." The hand on the scientist's knee gives a gentle squeeze.

Something in his voice suggests he realizes that they aren't only talking about the lights as he offers, "That's a sensible view. Past performance is not always a predictor of future results anyway. Sometimes with the unknown, you have to take a leap of faith."

Carlos can still feel himself toeing the edge between safety and uncharted territory. The precipice is still very real, but then Cecil burrows even closer against the cooling desert air and Carlos realizes that what they share is also very real. Beneath a dark sky alive and undulating with spiraling luminescence, he lets go of the familiar and decides to take the leap. It would seem his hypothesis is wrong after all; it isn't falling - it's flying.

* * *

><p><em>Author Notes: sorry for the slow (and short) update. I've been working more on further chapters than on this one, I'm afraid, so the rest should be coming much quicker. I would like to thank my friend Tier not only for helping me with this chapter, but also for teaching me that risks are always worth taking. thanks also to those who follow and favorite and review; you are all so lovely and keep me endlessly inspired.<em>


	8. Spun Sugar

From that night forward time ceases to be real, or at least not when segmented into traditional constants. They exchange the standards of measurement from hours and minutes and months to moments and memories and mandatory date nights to shady pizza parlors. Carlos disregards charts and graphs and models, choosing instead to gather new data in the crash of bowling pins and the taste of bloody mushrooms and the specific curvature to Cecil's lips every morning he wakes up with tangles in his hair and lovemarks down his neck.

Cecil never retrieves the eyelet dress from Carlos' closet; instead it gradually becomes buried beneath a cacophony of flannels and florals and fannypacks that sneak their way into the drawers and dressers.

Carlos never brings up the Ransom or its owner, choosing to let that too become buried beneath the layers of a life they both have begun to label with plural pronouns like _us _and _ours_.

Everything for once, is simple.

Except perhaps the five-strand braid Carlos is weaving out of smooth strands of ebony and violet. His fingers stumble, having been out of practice since days long ago when he would do his little sister's hair. Cecil doesn't complain, instead humming contentedly as Carlos gently parts and plaits in a steady rhythm.

"Do I have to do this?" he finally sighs for what must be the tenth time today.

"Not if you've changed your mind. But isn't this what you've always wanted?" Carlos presses, aware the hesitation only comes from nerves.

"What if I completely fail my audition? I haven't really practiced at all. What if I don't even have the voice for radio? My voice is not smooth or alluring or persuasive enough for broadcasting," he continues in a voice that Carlos finds plenty smooth and alluring and a good deal more than persuasive.

"Mi cariño," Carlos soothes, pausing to rub a circle into the tense muscles of Cecil's neck. "You're going to be amazing. I know you can do this." Cecil nods carefully so as to not disrupt the plaiting process. "Do you have a tie?" Carlos asks as he reaches the end of the braid. Cecil reaches over to the scientist's nightstand drawer and fumbles until he produces an elastic. "You know your way around my house better than I do," Carlos teases, looping his boyfriend's hair into a neat finish. "May as well move in at this point."

Cecil jerks around in surprise, the hope in his expression evident even as he attempts to ascertain the amount of sincerity in the offer. "Yeah?" he asks carefully. Carlos reaches around the man's waist and pulls him back into his lap as they lean against the headboard.

"Why not?" he shrugs. Orchid eyes crinkle in an exuberant smile.

"We could live at my place," Cecil offers. "It's bigger and on the nice side of town, and the rent will be a whole lot better than here if we split."

"I've always wondered how you afford a place like yours when one of your jobs is volunteer," Carlos points out.

"I've lived there for years since back when it was just a deserted warehouse." Cecil falls into silence for a spell, the way he's prone to do when he talks about his past - as if the earlier years of his life are hard for him to remember. "When it got bought, I talked them into letting me stay for discounted rent."

"And you say you're not persuasive," Carlos jokes. The man in his arms snorts. "We could get a condo?" The cheeky look Cecil gives him is enough of an answer. "Okay, not a condo," Carlos allows. "But we could find somewhere new to make a home all our own." Cecil murmurs an assent and nestles back against him. There's an hour before the auditions at the station, and neither is eager to leave the quiet comfort of their shared daydreaming.

The four note tone of Cecil's phone is what finally pulls them out of their lull. "Kevin wants me to trade and come in tonight," Cecil reads from the screen. "It wouldn't be a bad idea. I mean, we could use the extra money if we're serious about finding a new place."

"Cecil," Carlos warns gently. "The next open broadcasting auditions aren't for another month."

"I know," Cecil concedes. "I'm just making excuses because I'm anxious about finally actually giving this a shot." The device in his hands starts to buzz frantically. "What is it, Kev?" he asks dryly as he answers the call. "Not tonight, I'm busy." Carlos gives his boyfriend a proud squeeze and plants his lips to the joint between neck and shoulder. "I'm just busy, that's why. Find someone else to cover for you." Cecil tilts the receiver away from his lips and mouths '_stop_' to his boyfriend who has decided to distract him in the most affectionate method possible. It isn't a serious instruction since it's followed by a grin and then a finger to the scientist's lips. Carlos presses a kiss to that too, only stopping when Cecil's smile fades. Violet eyes study him carefully for a moment. "So what if I am with him right now?" Cecil asks the caller. There's a moment of silence during which Carlos can feel his boyfriend's frame stiffen beside him. "I'm - that's not even _remotely_ true," Cecil snarls. "Screw you, find someone else." He hangs up abruptly and stares at the phone for several moments.

"Everything alright?" Carlos ventures.

"Are you-" Cecil bites at his lip, turning to fix Carlos with a serious look. "You're not actually related to my boss are you?" Carlos freezes in place. There were several ways he had wanted to eventually bring this up, absolutely _none_ of them involving Kevin. He can't think of what to say, but his silence seems to sum everything up sufficiently. "Oh god," Cecil mumbles, pressing two fingers to the bridge of his nose.

"Cecil," Carlos starts to reach a hand out, but Cecil cuts the movement short with one sharp look.

"I am so stupid. I trusted you," he mutters, immediately pushing himself off the bed as if the sheets are somehow poison. "How much of this was planned?" he demands as he frantically begins to gather articles of clothing and trinkets from various perches around the room. "That's how you knew where I worked isn't it? How you know when I'd get off, where I'd be? All those pretty things you said about mystery and things you don't understand being beautiful, but I wasn't a mystery to you at all was I? I bet they even told you that I'm stupid enough to believe in fate, didn't they? Earl was right about you, he was right about all of this." He pauses, intentionally breathing in slowly through fingers steepled over his lips. "Am I the _only one_ who didn't know?"

"Cecil, nobody told me anything," Carlos pleads, not daring to move an inch lest he push Cecil even further away.

The dancer brushes aside the comment, an accusatory gesture punctuating his words. "You _knew _how important it was to me to keep my personal life separate. How long were you going to keep spinning pretty lies about some perfect future if you can't even tell me the truth about something you _knew _would matter to me?" Carlos doesn't have an excuse. Cecil fights to keep a steady expression as he shakes his head ruefully. "I let down my walls for you. I thought this time I'd really found someone perfect, someone who wasn't trying to take advantage, who wasn't mixed up in all of this."

"Cecil, I was never trying to use you," Carlos assures. "I just thought.." he can't figure out how to finish the statement without making things worse. "I was afraid you'd leave if you knew," he finally articulates.

Cecil laughs a frustrated, mirthless breath and unbuckles the wristband of his watch, dropping it carelessly on the dresser beside the door. "Do not call me," he snaps before slamming the door as he leaves.

* * *

><p><em>Author Notes: can I just say I am a huge fan of writing healthy relationships where the partners push each other to better themselves and follow their dreams? (not that lying to your boyfriend about sort-of important things for months is healthy, but we'll get back to that later..) I would also like to take this moment to point out that the original story title was simply going to be Spun Sugar, as in, all the pretty little lies too sweet to be true in case anyone wondered where that came from (also on a lesser note: cotton candy and alliteration so there's that)<em>


	9. Save The Last Dance

It seems that word travels fast through Night Vale's shadowed streets. Carlos receives more than a few glares from passerby as he waits in the alley behind the Ransom precisely eleven nights after his fight with Cecil. Even Simone has caught wind of the situation it would seem, judging by her uncustomary absence and the crushed aluminum can strategically placed at the scientist's usual hangout near the concrete steps to the back door. Carlos is used to the feeling of municipal eyes constantly upon him, but he tries to ignore the judgmental edge to their surveillance as he nervously fidgets with a bouquet of spiderlillies. His head shoots up as the stage door opens, but it's not Cecil who emerges. Cautiously, Kevin sidles his direction, leaning uncomfortably against the graffitied brick next to the scientist.

"What?" Carlos asks flatly.

"I didn't mean to ruin things," Kevin replies. For the first time, there's no purred undertone or affected gaiety to his voice. Carlos just shrugs dispassionately. "I mean it. Contrary to what I'm sure Cecil's told you, I'm not a horrible person," Kevin continues. "Vindictive and hopelessly petty, perhaps." From somewhere Carlos can't fathom, Kevin produces a cigarette and a lighter. He takes a long drag and lets it out slowly. "I know the things he says, about me I mean. He starts rumors about my only motivation being job security. And don't get me wrong," he adds, smoke drifting in arcs as he motions with his hands. "Sleeping with the club's owner has its perks, but it's a lot more than just that. Still - your boyfriend has a certain charm, and people always seem eager to listen."

Carlos watches him from the corner of his eye. Behind the flirtation and the costumes, Kevin and Cecil are much more alike than he'd originally realized. The dancer catches his glance and smirks before exhaling another silvery breath to the stars.

"My only intention was to give him a taste of his own medicine, since now the same rumors could very well be spread about him. In my defense, I didn't know you hadn't even told him," Kevin clucks as he grinds the edge of the cigarette lazily into the brick between the two of them. "All the same, I'm sorry if I ruined things."

"Well, no changing it now," Carlos sighs, more self-pity than bitterness in the remark. Suddenly something sparks in the dancer's onyx eyes.

"He's not going to be coming, or at least not this way. He's had Dana escort him out the front all week. I can make sure he gets those though," Kevin offers with a nod toward the bundle of flowers still clutched in the scientist's hand. "And if he still doesn't call by Thursday, come by and I'll work something out." Carlos studies the shadowed face of his companion. There's still a flicker of something unsettling about the man, but his expression seems sincere.

"Why would you help me?"

Kevin's eyelids flutter in a manner suggesting he'd very much like to roll those dark eyes. When he replies he does so slowly, as if explaining something obvious to a small child. "Just because I may be tempted to put crazy glue in your boyfriend's body glitter most days doesn't mean I hate him entirely. Besides," he shrugs. "You two have to stay together. For symmetry if nothing else."

* * *

><p>Carlos chides himself for putting faith in Kevin's judgement as he waits anxiously in a private booth bedecked in lush plums and purples. The garishness of the scene is nearly as he remembers from the last time he was in a similar room, but this time he can see the edges of the veneer a little clearer. Nervous fingers tap out of sync with the music against an empty glass in his hand. The scientist is just formulating a means of escape when the door opens softly and the dancer steps in, all charming smiles until he recognizes the patron within the shadowy compartment. Cecil heaves a heavy sigh and immediately turns for the door.<p>

"Wait," Carlos interjects. "I just, I need to talk to you. Please, just one song and then I promise I'm gone." Cecil chews his lip in momentary deliberation before marching over to the sofa.

"Dances are $60." The scientist eagerly offers a roll of bills that Cecil snatches from his hand and tucks into his waistband. "You have three minutes," he informs his client.

"You don't have to dance," Carlos objects as the dancer climbs effortlessly into his lap.

"You paid me for a dance, you're getting a dance," Cecil says, his tone unaffected. His entire demeanor speaks of detachment: his body moving in smooth undulations to a practiced rhythm, the rest of him coolly distant. Carlos has to try very hard not to notice the way Cecil still smells of cinnamon, how the dim lighting plays across his skin in rich shades of sepia; even harder not to think of the way those hips swayed much slower, in time with his own as the radio serenaded them one lazy morning.

Desperately, his eyes search the plush violet paneling on the opposite wall for help in refocusing his attention back to the reason he'd come here. "D-did you get the flowers I sent?" It's a weak opening line, and they both know it.

"Kevin seems to have seen to everything," Cecil comments dryly. "Two minutes."

"I came to tell you the truth," Carlos rushes all at once. "I don't have anything to lose anymore, I just - I just need you to know."

Cecil nods vacantly, urging him on with an unconcerned shrug.

"The truth is, I had never set foot in this place before that night. And even that, it was my birthday and I would have spent it by myself watching science documentaries on Netflix if Caesar hadn't kidnapped me and brought me here." Cecil's eyes flicker up to Carlos's face briefly. "I guess he felt obligated to give me a social life since god knows I'd never leave my lab otherwise. But I knew nothing about you or- or about any of this. I didn't even know your name. In fact, out in the alley," Carlos continues, his words smudging together at the edges in his effort to hurry them, "that night I almost said something to you. But I didn't know your name, and I was way too embarrassed to address you by your stage name." Cecil's impassive mask fractures long enough for him to let out a chuckle at the confession. Carlos latches onto the unexpected reaction, relying on it to fuel the rest of his carefully composed apology.

"The truth is, I don't believe much in coincidence either." Cautiously, he reaches out and runs his fingers through the silky waves of Cecil's hair as it smooths over his shoulder. Cecil stills at the familiar contact, all traces of a facade fading to reveal the vulnerability and hurt still palpable beneath the surface. "I'm so sorry I broke your trust, Cecil. By the time I realized it was something I should have told you, I was afraid you would leave if you found out. It was so selfish of me to make the choice to keep it secret after that." He attempts to paraphrase the words Cecil shared with him in a dark parking lot beneath the glimmering lights. "Love is about someone else; it isn't supposed to be selfish. I'm so sorry."

For a breath, Cecil almost looks poised to respond, but fate pounces upon the opportunity to draw the song to a close. The dancer pulls away reluctantly, allowing the scientist to make his way toward the exit.

"This is for you," Carlos says before leaving. He presses the ordinary watch and an equally ordinary key into Cecil's hand. "My grant application was approved thanks to your help finalizing the experimental stage, so I keep normal hours at the lab now. Eight to five. You can pick up the rest of your stuff from my place, and you don't even have to see me." He takes a deep breath before finishing his admission. "The truth is," Carlos says quietly, "you're the most beautiful enigma I've ever encountered. The only scientific peculiarity I never wanted to solve." A single tear escapes Cecil's wisteria eyes, and on a whim Carlos softly kisses it away. One last confession before turning to leave: "For what it's worth, you kept me warm."


End file.
